


night terror

by anxietyrobot



Category: Rise of the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles (Cartoon 2018)
Genre: Angst, Body Image, Gen, Nightmares, Self-Hatred, not too much tho this is draxum we're talking about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-15
Updated: 2020-05-15
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:41:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24192247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anxietyrobot/pseuds/anxietyrobot
Summary: Draxum is off the streets but that doesn't mean he feels any better.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 26





	night terror

**Author's Note:**

> this takes place after the shredder arc but before repairin the baron!

Draxum coughed and groaned; it felt like his entire body was just battered against rocks. The ground was hard and unforgiving against his elbows as he struggled to prop himself up. He couldn’t feel his legs and a sharp, clawing panic began taking over him. A cool shadow cast over him and he gazed up to see the armor now full of life-- _his_ life--towering over him. Its low growl rumbled the earth as Draxum cowered, unable to even call vines up to protect his vulnerable body. He heard its glass-shattering roar and felt the air change as it lunged towards him with claws and teeth sharp as knives and--

Draxum woke up with a start, gasping and clutching the sheets. His heart raced like it was desperate to escape, like his body could no longer contain it. He looked around frantically in the dark room, searching desperately for the otherworldly purple glow before it had a chance to catch him off guard. 

It took him a moment to remember where he was, the mattress under him softer than the cardboard he had been using previously. Right… Right. He was in an apartment, the four walls of the bedroom at once reassuring and claustrophobic.

He glanced at his glowing digital clock and sighed heavily when he saw it was barely ten past four in the morning. Two hours, he thought. Two hours of sleep. He rolled over groaning, staring at the ceiling until he gave in and slid out of bed. Two hours is better than none. 

He grabbed his robe from a nearby chair yet fell back down on the bed, clutching the fabric until his knuckles hurt. He brought it up to his face, breathing deeply but unevenly, his shoulders quaking. Get up. _Get up._

He stood, pulling on the robe and shoving his feet into his slippers. He tied the robe loosely around him and then shuffled over to the doorway. 

It was dark, the shapes of furniture blending in with every shadow. The blinds and curtains were shut, letting in just a minuscule amount of light that only blended where things started and where they ended. He should just turn on the lights, thought Draxum. That’s what a rational person would do. This city was huge. It’s not like that beast would be able to see the bright window and follow the light like a beacon. It’s not like it was even out there anymore. He continued on, ignoring the lightswitch and shuffled slowly forward in the dark lest he wake the entire neighborhood with a howl of pain when a hoof connected hard with a table leg.

The turtle told him the demon-- _Shredder_ they called it **_Shredder_** \--was caught, collared, and sent back to his prison through a portal. He said he saw it with his own two eyes, said it with such honesty that even the most cynical couldn’t doubt him. Why was Draxum still afraid of something that was a dimensional rip away from him? Why would he cower like a human when the threat was long gone? Yet there was that disbelief, that skepticism. Could something that inspired such deep fear and dread within him just vanish so easily?

He flicked the kitchen lights on in a bold defiance of himself. 

He moved over to a cupboard and picked a mug at random. It was a pale blue with “Get well soon” printed on it with curling purple letters. He scoffed at the words. A gift from the turtle. He wondered if it was bought on impulse, or if the turtle evaluated mugs, trying to predict Draxum’s reaction to each. A stuffed cartoon bear sat next to the words holding a rainbow syringe in one paw, wiping a tear away with the other, and with a bandage wrapped around his head.

He placed the cup on the counter and pulled out the instant coffee. He stood in the middle of the kitchen, wondering if he had reached so low a point as to microwave coffee. Grabbing a pot, he filled it with water and placed it on the burner. He scowled at the microwave but quickly averted his gaze when he caught his reflection in the machine’s little reflective window. Despite his fast reflexes, the image of him burnt into his mind. The ragged hair sticking out from the helmet he refused to take off, the sunken eyes visible through his mask, the way his skin clung to bone and tendon along his exposed neck.

He focused on preparing his coffee, dumping in spoons of instant coffee and sugar. Turning off the gas, he grabbed the pot with a dishrag and poured the boiling water into his mug. He cussed upon seeing the water spill and trickle all over the counter. He should get a kettle. One that’s new and modern and not hosting a soul fragment of some ancient evil.

Draxum shook his head as if trying to dislodge that thought. 

He mopped up his mess with the dishrag and pulled over a stool. He sat at the counter, knees pressed against the drawers. He draped the moist dishrag over the microwave, banishing his reflection.

He took a sip of his coffee and pulled away sharply, mouth burnt. Draxum hunched his shoulders and ran his thumb back and forth over the raised texture of the printed design on the mug. He gazed at his hands, tracing the bones and veins that protruded prominently from his tight skin. He glanced at the makeshift mirror but only ugly patterned cloth looked back.

There weren’t that many reflective surfaces within the apartment. Polish was required for most things to become a mirror and neither he nor the previous tenants cared much for the chore. The bathroom had one on the wall. It wasn’t there anymore, smashed by Draxum the second the turtle went home after giving him a tour of the place. He had to wait until the turtle left; the act of smashing the mirror was so petulant and childish he felt too exposed to dare have a witness to it. The shame and embarrassment of just kneeling down to pick up the glass shards afterwards nearly killed him.

His chest tightened. The turtle. _Michelangelo._ Annoyingly optimistic to the point of headache. Great cook though. And he took him off the streets, found him this apartment, gave him necessities. Allowed Draxum to just exist. He even trusted Draxum so fully he felt comfortable keeping him a secret, opting not to report him to his family or authorities, even if he somehow believed Draxum could ever become an ally. 

A tear dropped onto the countertop before Draxum noticed he was even crying. He rubbed at the cheek that the tear slid down with the heel of his hand like he was trying to rid himself of a stain.

“I’m way too tired,” Draxum said out loud. He wouldn’t be thinking like this, acting like this, if he could just get some sleep. He knew it could be worse, that there were individuals that couldn’t even get his two hours in, but he wasn’t supposed to feel like this. He was Baron Draxum, warrior scientist, savior of mutant and yokai, hero. Heros didn’t cry into their coffee mugs.

He took another sip, the coffee now cool enough not to hurt. He focused on drinking, pushing out all the buzz in his head. He glanced at the living room. The light streaked in more now, the sun beginning to rise. He hopped down from the stool and took his mug. 

He could watch whatever mindless human garbage was on television until Michalangelo came. Maybe he’d even fall into a blissfully dreamless sleep.


End file.
